Friends: That Don't Impress Me Much!
by Syl
Summary: While on a mission in Cannes, Black Canary unexpectedly runs into a friend.


Summary: On a mission in Cannes, Dinah meets up with an unexpected friend.  
  
Acknowledgement: King Mesha's declaration against the Israelites (translated   
from the Moabite Stone) is found in Harper's Bible Dictionary. Britanica.com   
provided an easy-to-follow table of Morse Code.  
  
Disclaimer: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; this is   
an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright.   
  
Feedback is welcome!   
  
Copyright July 2000  
  
****  
  
Friends 4: That Don't Impress Me Much  
By Syl Francis  
  
****  
  
"Ooh, Baby! Be still my beating heart!" Dinah muttered. She stared with open   
admiration at the tall, dark, and stunningly handsome man who'd just walked into   
the grand ballroom.   
  
"What? Didn't catch that, Dinah," Oracle said.  
  
"I think I'm in love," Dinah said good-naturedly. She studied him from lowered   
eyelashes. He seemed to fill the room with his quiet confidence.   
  
"You think you're what? Dinah, you're there to work," Oracle reminded her. "Fall   
in love on your own time. Besides, what about Batman?"  
  
"What about him?" Dinah said dismissively. "Ol' gloom and doom isn't looking for   
love, my friend. He's only happy when he's knocking heads."  
  
Gorgeous Guy was instantly set upon by a throng of beautiful women. Dinah   
watched, smiling at his bemused expression. Keeping her eyes on him, she brought   
her fluted glass up to her lips. At this moment, he glanced her way and caught   
her eye.  
  
An electric charge instantly passed between them.  
  
Oracle snorted. "And I suppose all *you* want is to curl up next to the   
fireplace with a good book, huh?"  
  
Smiling politely, he broke away from the crowd of beauties, and started towards   
Dinah. Feeling herself inexplicably blushing, she glanced quickly away and then   
back at him.   
  
"Curl up, maybe," Dinah finally replied. "But not with a book. Who wants to   
waste a perfectly good fire?" He was almost at her table. "Look, girlfriend,"   
Dinah whispered quickly. "Gotta go. I'm working, remember?"  
  
"Oracle out."  
  
Dinah put her glass down and studied her hands momentarily. Taking a deep   
breath, she looked up again. He stood over her, dark blue eyes brooding. He was   
studying her with an intensity that sent a shiver up her spine.  
  
Smiling uncertainly, she waited for him to speak. He blinked as if suddenly   
aware that he was staring. He held his hand out her.  
  
"Good evening. I'm--"  
  
"--Bruce Wayne," she interrupted.  
  
"My reputation precedes me, I see."   
  
"I'm afraid so," Dinah said. Smiling in amusement she introduced herself. "Dinah   
Lance."   
  
He stared at her a moment longer, a small smile playing at the corner of his   
mouth. "The infamous Black Canary."  
  
"My reputation precedes me, I see."  
  
"I'm afraid so," Bruce said, dark eyes twinkling. "May I join you?"   
  
"Please do."   
  
They sat and stared at each other for a moment longer. Finally, she spoke.   
"Bruce Wayne...I never expected to see you here in Cannes."  
  
"Really? Beautiful women, champagne, bright lights, excitement. Why wouldn't I   
be here?"   
  
She smiled coolly. "I don't know. I guess you're not what I expected."  
  
"Oh? The life of the idle rich doesn't impress you?" he asked wryly. "I hope I   
haven't disappointed you."  
  
Dinah looked away, feeling let down. Just another pretty face, she thought   
darkly. "Look, I'm waiting for someone," she said, pointedly. "So, if you'll   
excuse me?"  
  
Bruce ignored her, his eyes boring into hers. "Funny thing about reputations,   
Ms. Lance," Bruce said. "They have a tendency to grow in direct disproportion to   
the truth."  
  
Dinah gave him a sour look. "You have to admit, Mr. Wayne, your reputation with   
women is pretty notorious. Rampant rumors of wild orgies and virgin sacrifices   
at Wayne Manor abound."  
  
Bruce's eyes twinkled fleetingly. "I'm afraid that I gave up virgin sacrifices a   
long time ago. Hard to keep up with wild living when there's a nine-year-old boy   
running around the house."  
  
At her questioning look, he ducked his head in slight embarrassment. "I adopted   
a boy a few years ago." He gave her a wry look. "It's hard to explain the   
presence of strange women at breakfast. Or as Dick put it once when he came into   
my bedroom unexpectedly--" Bruce's voice went up a few octaves, his expression   
ingenuous. "I thought mommies and daddies slept together after they got married.   
Are *you* two getting married?'"  
  
Dinah burst into laughter. Bruce gave her a half-smile.  
  
"Needless to say, that was the last time I wanted to hear *that* question first   
thing in the morning."  
  
"And what of the young lady?" she asked slyly. Bruce smiled enigmatically.  
  
"Really, Ms. Lance. You can't expect me to tell you *all* of my secrets on our   
first meeting." He placed his chin in his hand and looked frankly at her.   
  
"As for reputations...Take your case, Ms. Lance. I've heard that you're   
beautiful. However, such a pedestrian description does you an injustice. There   
are no words to appropriately describe incomparable beauty such as yours."  
  
Dinah felt her cheeks grow hot. She looked down quickly. Getting herself under   
control, she looked up and snorted quite inelegantly.  
  
"Mr. Wayne, I've been fed some lines before, but yours tops them all."  
  
A small smile played at the right-hand corner of his mouth. "I wasn't joking,   
Ms. Lance."  
  
"Perhaps, but you know what they say, Mr. Wayne: 'Beauty is potent, but money is   
omnipotent.'"   
  
"Please, call me Bruce," he said. "And speaking from experience, I assure you   
that money truly can't buy you happiness, Ms. Lance."  
  
"Dinah," she said. "Perhaps not, but it sure can you earn you a whole new set of   
interesting enemies."  
  
Bruce smiled and taking his glass in hand, he held it out to hers. "To   
interesting enemies," he said. Together they gently clinked their glasses in   
salute. Eyes locked, they each downed their drink.  
  
The place was suddenly rocked with gunfire.   
  
Doors burst open and windows shattered as men in black military fatigues stormed   
in, automatic weapons firing at the ceiling. Their angry voices shouted orders   
in French.  
  
"~Everybody *down*~!!" "~On the floor!!~" "~Now~!"  
  
Panicked screams in multi-languages resounded throughout the elegant ballroom.  
  
"~My God~!" "~What's happening~?" "~My husband?! Where's my husband~?!"  
  
Dinah immediately flew into action. She dove across the table, grabbing Bruce as   
she fell over.   
  
"What are you--?" he began.  
  
Dinah clamped her hand over his mouth and dragged him to safety underneath the   
table.   
  
"Quiet!" she hissed. She was lying on top of him, her hand still covering his   
mouth.   
  
Bruce glared up at her, his dark eyes burning fire. About to throw her off him,   
he froze in place. Black boots were visible just underneath the other side of   
the tablecloth. Two male voices spoke in rapid French.  
  
"~I saw someone over here, Henri.~"   
  
"~You're imagining things, Armand.~"  
  
"~I'm checking under the table. Cover me.~"  
  
"~For heaven's sake--~"  
  
Before Bruce could protest, Dinah quickly undid his bowtie, half tore her own   
dress off her shoulder and kissed him with hot-blooded fervor. Caught by   
surprise, Bruce soon found himself returning her kiss with equal zeal. He was   
soon lost in the moment, reveling once again in her scent.   
  
Summer blossoms, he remembered.  
  
The sound of a machinegun bolt being locked back echoed in his mind as if from   
far away.   
  
Bruce felt Dinah being jerked from his arms as he was dragged out from   
underneath the table.  
  
"~What do we have here?~"  
  
"~A couple of lovers sharing a clandestine moment, Henri!~" Armand said   
laughing.  
  
Bruce spoke quickly, in breathless gasps.  
  
"~Please," he said in perfect French. "~My wife...she can't find out about this.   
Whatever you want...money, anything! Just, don't let this get to the media!~"  
  
Dinah gaped at him open-mouthed. Bruce glared at her. 'Go on,' his eyes urged.  
  
Taking the cue, she screeched at him in English. "You louse! You never told me   
you was married. I ought to--!"  
  
"Enough!" Armand yelled, covering them with his weapon, an Uzi Bruce noted. "I   
don't want to hear your lovers' quarrel. Move to the main room with the others."  
  
"A lady can't trust nobody no more," Dinah grumbled. Henri grabbed her by the   
arm.   
  
"Dinah, sweetheart," Bruce said in a whiny voice. "Please, I swear that last   
night was special. My wife just doesn't understand me--"  
  
Dinah turned on him, slipping out of her captor's hands. "Shaddup, ya' creep,   
before I--!" She whirled suddenly and slammed the heel of her open palm on   
Henri's chin. Simultaneously, Bruce chopped straight across Armand's throat.   
Both terrorists went down.  
  
Dinah turned in time to see Bruce take the second terrorist out.   
  
"Mr. Wayne," she said admiringly, stooping to remove a uniform patch from one of   
the terrorists. "You *are* more than just another pretty face!"   
  
Bruce allowed himself a small smile as they slipped out of the ballroom. Things   
were looking up.  
  
****  
  
"Oracle, come in!" Dinah called as they ran down a carpeted corridor.  
  
"Oracle."  
  
"Contact! It's the Jahaz all right. I took a shoulder patch off of one of the   
soldiers. It's the sign of Chemosh."  
  
"Ancient god of Moab?" Bruce asked.  
  
"Yeah, that's right," Dinah replied, impressed.  
  
"Dinah, is there someone with you?" Oracle asked.  
  
They ducked into a cloakroom. Dinah immediately grabbed a package that she'd   
checked earlier. She talked rapidly as she opened it.   
  
"A stray lamb I picked up," she explained. "Bruce Wayne." Bruce leaned casually   
against the door, his arms crossed. He raised a single eyebrow at her in   
amusement.  
  
"Bruce Wayne!?" Oracle shouted, surprised. "What's *he* doing there?"  
  
"How should I know?" Dinah answered. "We were talking when all hell broke loose.   
He handled himself pretty well, in fact."  
  
"I'll bet," Oracle muttered. "What are you doing now? I place you in the cloak   
room."  
  
"I'm getting my gear ready," Dinah said, unselfconsciously beginning to strip in   
front of Bruce. He immediately turned his back to her. "I count approximately   
two hundred hostages. An untold number of hostiles--"   
  
"Ten, fifteen tops," Bruce said, over his shoulder.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Your back was to them when they stormed the ballroom," he explained easily.   
"The room has four main entrances. I counted four two-man teams entering through   
the doors and at least two men crashed in through the windows."  
  
Bruce risked a look. Black Canary was staring at him. He shrugged.   
  
"I don't know how many came in through the ceiling skylights. That's when you   
threw me under the table and took advantage of me," he added, eyes smiling. "Oh,   
I think they were armed with Uzi's."  
  
"I know what they were armed with, Mr. Wayne," Black Canary said sharply.  
  
"'Mr. Wayne'? I thought we'd progressed to you calling me 'Bruce,'" he   
protested. "Is it against superhero regulations when you're in uniform?"   
  
Grabbing her gear, Black Canary started for the door. "I don't have time to   
chat. These people are real killers. I've seen some of their handiwork in the   
name of Chemosh."  
  
Bruce made a move as if to follow her, but Black Canary shook her head.  
  
"Sorry, Mr. Wayne. Play time's over. I can't let a civilian get in harm's way.   
Please, you'll be safe here."  
  
She was afraid at first that he was going to give her a hard time and was   
somewhat disappointed when he didn't. About to turn to leave, Black Canary   
caught his eye. The same electric charge she'd felt earlier in the evening again   
sparked between them.   
  
Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart went into overdrive. Dark blue eyes   
bored into hers. She felt instantly drawn to him.   
  
A small voice in the back of her head reminded her that the lives of two hundred   
hostages were depending on her. Calling forth all of her self-discipline, she   
spun on her heel and headed out.  
  
****  
  
"Just what are *you* doing there?" Oracle hissed.  
  
"Can't a guy take a vacation?" Bruce asked blandly. He was running down the   
carpeted corridor. He came to the fire escape and instantly started sliding   
down.  
  
"Vacation? You?"  
  
"It could happen."   
  
"In some other life time, maybe," Oracle retorted.  
  
Bruce reached the ground and staying to the shadows edged along the building. He   
soon spotted a lone gunman keeping watch near the hedges. Coming up behind him,   
Bruce took out the guard with an elbow to the back of the neck. As the gunman   
went down, Bruce caught his weapon and quickly disabled it.  
  
He kept a low, running commentary as he worked. "What's the point in being   
wealthy if I can't have fun now and then? The Cannes Festival is a magnet for   
beautiful women."  
  
"It's also an international film festival," Oracle said severely. "And you   
*hate* the movies." She didn't add that he hadn't attended a movie theater since   
his parents' murder.   
  
"Not to mention that *fun* is not in your vocabulary. Hold it! I've got Dinah on   
the other line." She signed off.  
  
Locating two more armed sentries, Bruce waited momentarily, studying their   
moves. Seeing an opening, he sprang into action.  
  
"A lot you know about me, Ms. Oracle," Bruce muttered. "I know what fun is. I've   
watched others indulge in it for years." He somersaulted and slammed into the   
two guards at the same time.   
  
"I've studied Dick having fun." Bruce locked his legs around one of the guards'   
neck, bringing him down.   
  
"I can *do* 'fun.'" Releasing, he sprang up, kicked his opponent in the head,   
spun and landed a roundhouse on the other. Both were out.  
  
"See? I'm having fun already."   
  
****  
  
From her position along the mezzanine, Dinah watched in growing anger. Her night   
vision goggles allowed her to see everything clearly. She shook her head. It was   
all so senseless. What kind of political statement could the terrorists possibly   
hope to gain from this operation?  
  
The Jahaz was a Middle Eastern terrorist group whose primary goal was the   
eradication of all Western influence in their part of the world.   
  
So far they'd been credited with blowing up a fully loaded commuter train in   
Dhahran, sinking a passenger ferry in the Strait of Harmuz, and initiating an   
unprovoked noontime assault in a crowded MacDonald's in Tel Aviv.  
  
The cost in lives? Over 350 dead or wounded.  
  
And it wouldn't end there.   
  
The Jahaz claimed to follow the teachings of Mesha, last true King of Moab, who   
boasted of his military successes against the Israelites in the name of Chemosh:   
"I went by night and fought...from the break of dawn until noon. I captured it   
and slew them all--seven thousand men, boys, women, girls...for I had devoted it   
to Ashtar-Chemosh."  
  
The Jahaz had no known affiliation with any Middle Eastern nation. It seemed to   
be an entirely independent terrorist organization with members of different   
nationalities. And it was bent on bringing chaos and terror to the region.   
  
Two days ago, the Jahaz announced a new international campaign of fear,   
threatening a massive strike in Cannes during the film festival. Cannes'   
officials refused to give in to terrorist threats and ransom demands, declaring   
unequivocally that the festival would go on.  
  
Naturally, this drew an all-time, record-breaking crowd. Including Bruce Wayne,   
it would seem.   
  
"Great," Dinah sighed. "The guy lives in Gotham City. *I* live in Gotham City.   
Where do I bump into him? In the middle of a terrorist attack. Story of my   
life."  
  
"Woo-hoo! Bruce Wayne!" Oracle teased. "I hear he's a real hunk. And his   
reputation with the ladies could fill my computer databanks!"  
  
"Forget it, girlfriend," Dinah said, her eyes never ceasing their endless   
scanning. "Maybe I *could* use a man in my life. But I *don't* need one in my   
bed. And I have a feeling that Bruce Wayne isn't the type for holding hands and   
taking long walks."  
  
"And *Batman* is?" Oracle teased.  
  
"*Batman* is--" Dinah allowed herself a small smile. "--in a league all to   
himself."  
  
"You can say that again," Oracle said under her breath.  
  
Black Canary checked out the obvious leader. He was in total command of the   
situation.   
  
"Can you get me a line on this bozo?" she asked, zooming in with her optics.  
  
"Got the info coming up right now," Oracle responded. "Whew...According to CBI   
records, he's Bashir Gonen. Get this...he's a former intelligence officer in the   
Israel Defense Forces. According to the IDF, Gonen was given a dishonorable   
discharge and sentenced to life imprisonment for selling Israeli security plans   
of the Golan Heights to Syrian forces."  
  
Oracle didn't have to explain that the Golan Heights was an area in constant   
dispute between Israel and her nearest Arab neighbor Syria.  
  
"Life imprisonment?" Black Canary asked. "So, what's he doing here?"  
  
"Escaped from a military maximum-security prison twelve months ago. Killed four   
guards. Later, the driver of the escape vehicle was found with a gunshot wound   
to the head."  
  
"Nice guy," Black Canary said sardonically.  
  
"Oh, the body count doesn't end there," Oracle assured her. "Two airport   
security guards were found in a sealed baggage compartment with their throats   
cut. And a doctor was found stuffed in a supply closet, his neck broken. Gonen   
stole the doctor's private jet and escaped the country." She paused.  
  
"Our best intelligence sources put him somewhere in Pakistan for a few weeks,   
then Afghanistan. Unconfirmed reports had him in Basra and even Baghdad. Then   
nothing for several months until the passenger train was blown up and then the   
ferry."  
  
Gonen's henchmen had already set up a command station complete with satellite   
communications.  
  
Dinah rolled her eyes. "I guess this is the part where they start making the   
usual exorbitant ransom demands. Oracle, think you can block his signal? Make it   
just a tad challenging for him to get his message across?"  
  
"I can try," Oracle muttered. "Hold on a sec..."  
  
Dinah scanned the ballroom again. Movement out of the corner of her eye caught   
her attention.   
  
"What the--?"  
  
A lone hostage had apparently gathered his courage sufficiently to approach the   
Jahaz leader. He looked strangely familiar. She finally recognized him as a   
well-known actor being featured in one of the films during the festival.  
  
"Tom, baby, you'd better get back to your seat," she muttered.  
  
****  
  
Bruce straightened his tie, dusted off his formal dinner jacket, and ran a hand   
through his hair, smoothing it back.  
  
"Playtime's over," he said, echoing Black Canary's earlier words. "Time to get   
serious."  
  
"Bruce?" Oracle called.  
  
"Here, Oracle," he replied. "What's Black Canary's situation?"   
  
"Tense. She's gonna rake you over the coals for showing up on one of her cases   
again."  
  
Bruce smiled briefly in the darkness. He recalled their last "accidental"   
meeting in Ireland. Dinah had been enraged at what she called his   
"interference." Batman wound up getting shot, and Bruce *still* hadn't heard the   
end of it from Dick.   
  
Bruce scowled at the memory. If he'd been trying to make a complete jackass of   
himself, he couldn't have done a better job. What's worse, after getting shot   
and almost blowing the entire mission, he'd still felt compelled to meet Dinah   
at the top of Wayne Enterprises Tower, just to see for himself that she was all   
right.  
  
Of course, Dinah let him have it--with both barrels. And he stood there and took   
it. That's when he kissed her, desiring her passionately, almost blindly. For   
the first time, since he'd taken up the mantle, he felt a need for something   
more than his lonely, one-man mission.   
  
But the World's Greatest Detective turned away. Afraid of what he was feeling   
for her. Afraid of himself. Afraid of what he might do should he let himself go.   
  
So he told her that he couldn't *allow* himself to need her anymore. And for the   
next few weeks he drove himself relentlessly in order to convince himself of the   
truth behind his words. And he might have succeeded if only...He paused.   
  
If only he could stop thinking on how her eyes changed color when she became   
angry. Normally a bright blue, they turned a fascinating shade of green when she   
became angry or upset.   
  
Or how her blonde hair whipped around her face as she moved with tireless grace   
in her deadly dance against her opponents. He stopped himself short. This kind   
of thinking wasn't getting him anywhere!  
  
"I'm on vacation," Bruce muttered. "Doc Leslie said I needed to get away before   
I exploded. Is it *my* fault Dinah happens to be here, too?"  
  
Oracle made a rude noise over the comlink.  
  
"Besides, that was *Batman* who interfered in her case, remember? And anyway,   
what's a little animosity amongst friends?"   
  
He climbed a set of marble steps that led up to a sweeping, open-air veranda.   
Arriving at a set of French doors, he peered in. The inside lights had been cut,   
of course.   
  
"Friends?" Oracle retorted. "Is that what it's called nowadays?"  
  
Bruce donned a special pair of glasses--ultra-cool sunglasses by day, night   
vision goggles by night, the latest in WayneTech executive-level personal   
security gadgets.   
  
Who needs Batman? He asked himself wryly. He quickly assessed the situation   
while only half-listening to Oracle.  
  
"What? Is *what*--what it's called nowadays?" he asked distractedly. He saw a   
well-known actor, Tom something-or-other, suddenly stand and start approaching   
the terrorist leader.   
  
Oracle made a snorting sound of disgust. "Never mind, Bruce. But don't say you   
weren't warned."   
  
Bruce didn't respond. He was watching the unfolding drama with an increasing   
sense of unease.  
  
What's he *doing*, Bruce wondered?  
  
"Message coming in from Black Canary," Oracle said, all business. "Stand by." A   
momentary blackout signaled that she'd changed to Black Canary's frequency.   
There was a sudden intake of breath over the comlink.   
  
"*Bruce*! Ohmygod! They're--!"  
  
"I *see* it!" Bruce interrupted, taking a flying leap and kicking in the double   
doors.  
  
****   
  
What is he *doing*?! Black Canary fumed, as the actor sauntered confidently   
towards the Jahaz leader.   
  
"This isn't one of your movies," she hissed. "Don't you know that that's one of   
the most cold-blooded killers on the planet?"   
  
An armed terrorist intercepted the handsome actor. He instantly held his hands   
out to his sides, a wide, friendly smile on his face.  
  
"Tom!" a young woman pleaded from the sidelines. "Please, come back and sit   
down."   
  
"It's okay, Nicky," Tom assured her. "I just want to talk to the gentleman." He   
tentatively placed his fingertips on the gun barrel grimly pointed directly at   
his heart. Very gently, he pushed it to the side.  
  
The gunman glanced at Gonen, who raised a single eyebrow and gave a curt nod.  
  
"See?" Tom said, glancing back triumphantly. "We're all friends here. Right?"  
  
****  
  
Black Canary watched, eyebrows almost all the way to her hairline. "Oracle, I   
don't like what I'm seeing. Something bad's about to go down and *quick*! I'd   
best be ready. Call you back."  
  
"Standing by," Oracle responded.  
  
****  
  
Gonen waited, arms crossed, not speaking. Tom swallowed rapidly, and then   
managed another weak grin. He walked up to the Jahaz leader and chummily placed   
his arm around the terrorist's shoulder.  
  
"Look, pal," he said sotto voce, "I don't know what this is all about, but I'm   
sure that whatever your cause is, you probably have a good point. My name's Tom   
Rhoades, by the way--I'm sure you've heard of me?" He looked expectantly at the   
terrorist for confirmation of his celebrity. When none was forthcoming, Tom   
cleared his throat and tried again.   
  
"These people are all friends of mine...Mister, uh, excuse me, but I didn't   
catch your name--?" Once again, he waited for a response, and once again, Gonen   
glared coldly. Tom grinned weakly, shrugged and continued almost   
conspiratorially.   
  
"My friends and I are all here to celebrate my new film. What do you say to   
letting them go, and I promise you that I'll help you in any way I can to meet   
with whatever parties of your choice and--ARGHARGH!!"  
  
With the speed of an attacking rattler, Gonen grabbed the actor's arm, bringing   
him to his knees, all the while applying bone-breaking pressure and screaming a   
string of expletives in a language the actor didn't recognize.  
  
Tom screamed at the blinding pain! This was no movie stunt being executed with   
maximum care for the safety of the high-priced star. He was experiencing real   
agony!  
  
Abruptly the Jahaz leader switched to French. "~Do you believe that I *care*   
about you or these *pigs*? You are all animals fit only for the slaughter!" For   
emphasis, he backhanded the mega-star across the face. Unholstering his handgun,   
he snapped back the firing bolt and removed the safety.   
  
"*Tom*!!" the woman he'd called Nicky screamed. The other gunmen quickly   
mirrored their leader's actions by locking back their firing bolts, and   
brandishing their weapons at their glitzy prisoners. The large crowd of panicked   
guests huddled along the walls, screaming in terrorized fright.  
  
Gonen walked up to the dazed actor in slow, measured steps. Tom was struggling   
to sit up, cupping his hands to his broken nose. Gonen purposefully aimed the   
weapon to the actor's forehead.  
  
Tom looked up, straight into the muzzle of the gun. Unable to look away, he   
watched with ghoulish fascination as the Jahaz leader began squeezing the   
trigger.  
  
"...Now and at the hour of our deaths," Tom whispered, inexplicably recalling a   
prayer from his days as an altar boy.  
  
****  
  
"Oracle! Gonen's about to plug a hostage! I'm moving in!"  
  
"*Dinah*--!" Oracle yelled. She instantly switched channels. "*Bruce*! Ohmygod!   
They're--!  
  
"I *see* it!"  
  
Oracle listened as in the next instant all Hell broke loose.  
  
****  
  
Simultaneously, a figure crashed through the elegant French doors, while another   
landed with the force of a Titan missile on Gonen's startled back.  
  
Tom felt himself being hustled to his feet and unceremoniously thrown out of the   
way. He landed in a heap against a giant planter. Bullets erupting around him   
galvanized him into diving behind the large palm tree. The staccato bursts of   
automatic gunfire continued to sound all around. The screams of the terrorized   
crowds running in all directions overlaid the gunfire.  
  
Chancing a look, Tom was momentarily stunned to see a man in a dinner jacket   
similar to his coolly take down several of the gunmen almost single-handedly.   
Just like *he* did in the movies, Tom thought chagrinned, but doing it for real.   
  
Catching movement to his left Tom saw a beautiful, petite blonde with a mean   
kick enthusiastically assisting the debonair Bond-type. Her right hook wasn't   
too shabby, either.   
  
And from Tom's vantage point, she did not look happy.  
  
****  
  
"What the hell do you think you're *doing*?" Black Canary hissed. She and Bruce   
were momentarily back-to-back. Not waiting for an answer, she leaped, spun,   
kicked out with both legs, and cartwheeled, dodging bullets that came too close   
for comfort.  
  
"What does it *look* like I'm doing?" Bruce grunted, elbowing his opponent to   
the temple, and then grabbing him by the lapels and tossing him bodily into two   
others who'd been about to rush him.  
  
Black Canary suddenly slammed into Bruce. They both went down. Glaring daggers   
at him, she barked, "It *looks* like you're getting in the way!"   
  
Without waiting for a reply, she back-flipped, kicking out and connecting with a   
terrorist's cheek.  
  
"Not bad," Bruce murmured. Without bothering to turn, he suddenly brought his   
fist up and knocked out a terrorist who'd come up behind him. Calmly   
straightening his jacket, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.   
  
A gunman had grabbed a screaming woman and was holding her as a human shield.   
The terrorist was screeching in a language Bruce didn't recognize and angrily   
fired off a few rounds for emphasis, scattering any remaining guests in all   
directions.  
  
"Oracle," Bruce muttered.   
  
"Oracle," Black Canary gasped.  
  
"Translate!" They both said at the same time.  
  
In her clocktower, Oracle rolled her eyes. She was receiving simultaneous   
broadcasts from Bruce and Black Canary. It was all she could do to keep up with   
them.   
  
"I need an assistant," she muttered.  
  
"What?" Bruce asked.  
  
"Didn't catch that," Black Canary said.  
  
"I said, I'm on it," Oracle replied.  
  
All of the terrorists were down, but one. And he was holding a helpless hostage   
as a shield--Tom Rhoades' wife, Nicky. The place was littered with glass shards,   
discarded weapons, and overturned tables and chairs.  
  
Frightened civilians were huddled behind anything that afforded the smallest   
modicum of cover. For an instant the place lay still in a frozen tableau.  
  
The silence was suddenly shattered.  
  
"Nicky!" Tom yelled. He took a step towards his wife, but the terrorist pressed   
his weapon up against her temple, shouting something in his native tongue. Nicky   
sobbed hysterically.  
  
Black Canary held Tom back. "Don't move!" she ordered. "He'll kill her for   
sure."  
  
Bruce was much closer to the gunman than the others. Standing perfectly still,   
his senses fully alert, he gauged the distance between them. He'd never be able   
to clear it in time to save the woman.  
  
"Got the info on what he's saying," Oracle interrupted. "He's speaking in an   
obscure Pakistani dialect. The nearest I can translate is, 'I want a helicopter   
and safe passage out of the country.'"  
  
"That's it?" Black Canary asked in one ear. "Nothing about dying for the glory   
of Chemosh?"   
  
"Are you sure?" Bruce said in the other. "What about this 'Chemosh' angle?"   
  
Oracle sighed. "That's the best I can offer," she said, a bit defensively.  
  
The cornered gunman screamed again.   
  
"Oracle, listen to me," Bruce said urgently. "Get BC to assure him that we're   
getting a helicopter, that one will be arriving soon. We need to calm him down   
before he kills someone out of sheer panic."  
  
"On it," Oracle said. Then, "Dinah--?" And proceeded to tell her what to say as   
Bruce had requested.  
  
When Black Canary spoke to the terrorist in his native tongue, he exploded in a   
torrent of words and started towards her, brandishing his gun wildly and   
dragging his hapless victim with him. Black Canary stood her ground, her   
instincts primed for the slightest opportunity.  
  
As he approached her, the terrorist continued a running commentary in his native   
tongue.   
  
"Oracle, I need a translation!" Black Canary muttered under her breath.  
  
"Got it!" Oracle replied. "He's demanding to know what's taking so long. So you,   
uh, say the following..."  
  
"What? What does that mean? What am I saying?" Black Canary demanded.  
  
"Don't have time, Dinah. Trust me!" Oracle said impatiently.  
  
Biting back an angry retort, Black Canary listened attentively and then repeated   
the words in soothing if somewhat broken tones. What she said seemed to   
momentarily mollify him, because he nodded as if in understanding.  
  
While this was going on, Bruce noted that he was now at an oblique angle to the   
gunman and no longer in his direct line of sight. Not daring to twitch a muscle,   
he waited, ensuring that Black Canary had the terrorist's undivided attention.   
With excruciating slowness Bruce palmed his cufflinks without being seen.  
  
Keeping a sharp eye, he saw his opening. For a split second, Nicky's long, dark   
curls blocked him completely from the terrorist's view. In the next instant,   
Nicky moved, exposing the gunman's face. At the same time, Bruce whipped both   
cufflinks at the gunman. One struck his left temple, the other his left cheek.  
  
The terrorist screamed at the unexpected sharp pain, but before he could   
recover, he was bulldozed from two sides by twin steamrollers.  
  
****  
  
Bruce stayed in the gloom, a mere wisp in the shadows, observing from a   
distance. He'd left before the police or news media arrived. The last thing he   
needed was publicity, he tried to tell himself.  
  
The truth was that he did not wish to confront Black Canary at the moment. She'd   
been close to apoplexy when they'd finally subdued the last terrorist. Whether   
the anger was aimed at him for helping, or at herself because they discovered   
that Gonen had given them the slip, he wasn't sure.   
  
Either way, he felt it the greater part of valor to make his exit quickly.  
  
He felt comfortable enshrouded by the night. Inside, the media was frenziedly   
snapping photos of the chic hostages and the beautiful Black Canary, a member of   
the Justice League. Mr. and Mrs. Tom Rhoades, international film superstar and   
his glamorous wife, who'd both almost been killed, were the center of attention   
and would soon become the darlings of the global news media.   
  
"His movie will probably be a major hit now," Bruce muttered.  
  
"Yes," Oracle said in his ear. "It'll be the must-see movie of the Cannes Film   
Festival. And he has *you* to thank."  
  
Bruce didn't answer.  
  
"So, having fun yet?" she asked wryly.  
  
Bruce ignored her.  
  
"Bruce, what did you expect to gain from this? I mean *Bruce Wayne* taking down   
all of those terrorists? Are you crazy?"  
  
"Bruce Wayne didn't take down the terrorists," Bruce said.  
  
"What? Then who did? Bugs Bunny?"  
  
"Tom Rhoades did."  
  
"What--? What are you talking about?" Oracle asked blankly.  
  
"I'm talking about the secret, closed-circuit security tape that the police are   
going to recover from the only working camcorder that will clearly show Tom   
Rhoades and Black Canary saving the hostages."  
  
"But there were witnesses--!" Oracle protested.  
  
"The place was dark. And who can tell what one sees in the dark? Besides, by the   
time hotel security leaks the story and confidential sources in the police force   
confirm the rumors, Tom Rhoades will not only be an international mega-star,   
he'll be a real-life action hero."  
  
"But why--? How--?"  
  
"Why? Because Bruce Wayne is a womanizing playboy, not a hero," Bruce said   
matter-of-factly. "As to how? Really, Oracle, you don't expect me to tell you   
*all* of my secrets, do you?" Bruce asked.   
  
He heard Oracle spluttering over the comlink and cut the link.  
  
****  
  
"May I join you?"  
  
Dinah looked up from the morning paper. Bruce sat across from her without   
waiting for an invitation. He was impeccably dressed in ultra-casual chic. Dinah   
watched with growing annoyance as he signaled the waiter for coffee. He was   
served immediately.  
  
"Tell me how you did it, Mr. Wayne," she said.  
  
"Please. Call me 'Bruce,'" he said. "Did what?" he asked blandly, taking a sip   
from his coffee.   
  
Dinah tossed him the morning paper. The French headlines proclaimed Tom Rhoades   
a real-life hero. A gritty photo from a surveillance camera showed someone who   
looked like the actor disarming one of the terrorists.  
  
"Hmmmm. Deplorable quality," he said, dismissively. "I should get Lucius to talk   
to them about the latest in WayneTech security technology."  
  
"Okay, don't tell me," she said, picking up her sunglasses and handbag. "As they   
say, I have places to go and things to do. So, if you'll excuse me, enjoy your   
coffee." She stood to go.   
  
Bruce pushed his chair back and immediately followed her. He caught the bemused   
waiter's eye and shrugged. "Women," he whispered. "What's a man to do?" The   
waiter nodded in man-to-man understanding. Bruce surreptitiously passed him a   
large tip and then hurried to get the door for Dinah.  
  
"Mr. Wayne," Dinah muttered. "I assure you that I am more than capable of   
disabling you in several different places, and if you don't stop following me--"   
She stopped and faced him. He almost slammed into her. "--I most likely will."  
  
Passersby glanced at them with varying degrees of amusement and annoyance.  
  
"I wish to apologize, Ms. Lance," Bruce said, taking her arm and pulling her   
along. "I can't do that if you walk away or hospitalize me, now can I?" They   
came to street corner and waited for the light to change.  
  
"You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Wayne," Dinah said, not looking at him.   
"You stuck your nose where it didn't belong, but thankfully, everything turned   
out all right. For Tom Rhoades, anyway." She sounded disgusted.   
  
"As for the rest of the world," she added with mock sweetness, "I guess it'll   
just have to wait until the leader of one of the most notorious international   
terrorist organizations is either caught--or kills again. Thank you for that."  
  
"You're welcome," Bruce said sardonically.  
  
Neither looked at the other. When the light turned, they started to cross the   
intersection. At the same time, a car roared around the corner, tires squealing,   
careening straight towards them.   
  
Instinctively, Bruce pushed Dinah out of harm's way and then turned in time to   
see the car almost on top of him. Leaping up, he avoided being hit head-on.   
Vaulting over the car's hood, he landed--hard--on the roof. Grabbing onto the   
sides, Bruce held on.   
  
The vehicle kept going through the intersection, scattering bystanders and other   
cars. Bruce heard panicked screams over the screech of tires and the roar of the   
engine.  
  
****  
  
"Oracle!" Dinah called. "He's in trouble! The *idiot*! He 'saved' me, for crying   
out loud. Just who's the superhero here anyway?"  
  
"Who's in trouble?" Oracle asked, as if she didn't know.  
  
"As if you didn't know," Dinah said, running in the direction that the car had   
disappeared.   
  
"We were almost run over by a hit-and-run driver. Bruce pushed me out of the   
way, and--get this! He pulled a stunt worthy of *Batman* and somehow managed to   
land on the roof of the car. Which is where he was the last time I saw him."  
  
Oracle cringed at Dinah's 'Batman' comment. That *idiot*, she fumed. Was he   
*trying* to give away his secret identity?  
  
"Is there something about Bruce Wayne that you're not telling me?" Dinah asked.   
"He's not one of your operatives, is he?" She was only half-joking.  
  
"What? Bruce Wayne working for *me*?" Oracle laughed a bit forcefully. "Don't be   
silly. I'll see what I can find out."   
  
"You do that," Dinah said. Oracle's tone sounded just a bit disingenuous. Bruce   
Wayne an international covert operative? Nah! Dinah gave herself a quick   
headshake.   
  
"Get real, girl," she muttered just as she spotted a man pulling up on his   
motorcycle. As he dismounted, she quickly ran up to him and mounted his street   
bike from behind like a Western movie cowboy.   
  
"Meanwhile, I'm commandeering this guy's wheels," she said, taking off. The   
hapless motorcycle owner ran after her shouting French expletives.   
  
"See to it that he's properly compensated, please."   
  
Dinah weaved through the thick festival crowds, taking the straight-aways at   
over 160kpm. She soon discovered that the motorcycle she'd 'borrowed' was an   
extremely smooth-handling, light ride that felt more like an F-16 fighter than a   
street bike.   
  
Seeing the car with Bruce still clinging to the roof make a left turn up ahead,   
she leaned over and took the sharp corner without effort.  
  
"Zow-eeeee!" she cried aloud. "I've *gotta* get me one of theeeeese!"  
  
****  
  
Back at the clocktower Barbara just shook her head and looked over to where  
Dick Grayson, dressed in grungy sweats with the motto, 'Property of the  
Bludhaven PD,' was now monitoring a secondary station. She nodded curtly at him.  
  
"You're on, Boy Wonder," she said.  
  
Grinning, Dick gave her a thumbs-up in reply, and tuning to the required   
frequency, he began to raise Bruce.   
  
This mission was beginning to give Barbara a serious headache, but at least, now   
she had help.   
  
****  
  
"Bruce!" Dick's urgent voice sounded in his ear.  
  
The car swerved left then right, trying to shake him. The driver sideswiped a   
delivery truck that was double parked on the side of the road.   
  
"What are you doing on this frequency?" Bruce asked.   
  
"Babs said she needed a little help." Dick sounded amused. "Something about you   
and Black Canary running her ragged.  
  
"Get to the point," Bruce said, ducking quickly as they passed under a low   
street sign. "I'm a little busy."  
  
"Black Canary said that you're in trouble--" Dick began.  
  
He was interrupted by a loud bang. Bruce flinched as something hot zipped by his   
ear. The occupants were shooting at him through the roof of the car.  
  
"Bruce! Were those *shots* I just heard?" Dick's anxious voice went up an   
octave.  
  
"Wait a minute," Bruce said curtly, "and I'll let you *ask* them!" He promptly   
cut the connection.  
  
****  
  
In the clocktower, Dick leaned back on his chair with whoosh. He glanced at   
Barbara with a pained expression on his face.   
  
"Is he *always* this pleasant?" he asked.  
  
"Oh, this is one of his nicer moments," Barbara replied. "See, today he's Bruce   
Wayne. *Batman* would never have been so polite." Dick was about respond, but   
she held her hand up, listening. "Dinah's on the line."  
  
****   
  
Gritting his teeth, Bruce shifted his handhold to only one side of the car, just   
avoiding being hit by whizzing bullets that were flying by at a faster rate.   
Seeing a shadow suddenly loom ahead, he hastily rolled to the other side of the   
car and just evaded being smashed against another parked truck.  
  
Letting out a short breath, Bruce swung out and over the side, crashing into the   
driver's side window feet first. He slammed into the driver, promptly knocking   
him out. Somehow, Bruce managed to shove the unconscious driver out of his way,   
heaving him over to the already occupied passenger side.   
  
The driver's dead weight fell on the front seat passenger just as the second man   
was about to bring his weapon to bear on Bruce. Bruce managed to kick out,   
thrusting both men against the passenger side door, which opened suddenly,   
almost dislodging them.   
  
However, Bruce's own actions also pushed him back into the steering wheel. The   
car immediately began swerving out of control. The men inside were thrown bodily   
around in their seats, none able to gain the upper hand. The second front seat   
passenger managed to close the door before either he or the unconscious driver   
was thrown out.  
  
Meanwhile, the backseat occupant, a bald man with a distinct scar running down   
his right cheek, wasn't sitting idle. As soon as Bruce brought the car under   
some kind of control, Scarface came after him with a large knife. He threw an   
arm around the 'vacationing' American playboy's neck and brought the knife's   
edge up close to his face.   
  
Bruce caught his attacker's wrist in a vice-like grip, preventing him from   
successfully slashing his face. Scarface's dogged struggle was evident from the   
sweat running down his temples.  
  
As the knife blade was about to be turned to his neck, Bruce jerked the steering   
wheel suddenly, throwing Scarface off-balance.  
  
The sounds of grunts and heavy breathing were the only noises in the interior of   
the out-of-control car.  
  
The front seat passenger had retrieved his weapon and was trying to aim it at   
Bruce but was too entangled with the driver to get a clear shot. Simultaneously,   
Scarface came back and threw his arm around Bruce's neck, once again threatening   
with his knife.   
  
Fighting for his life, Bruce chopped down with his right hand, knocking the   
pistol out of the gunman's grip, and then took him out with three quick jabs to   
the chin. With his left hand, he was trying not to let the guy holding a knife   
to his throat kill him.   
  
Moreover, while keeping the bad guys at bay, he'd also been awkwardly steering   
the car with his left knee, to keep it from slamming into any innocent   
pedestrians or other vehicles.  
  
Scarface suddenly laughed in his ear, a sound like fingernails on chalkboard. He   
started applying pressure to Bruce's neck, cutting his air supply.  
  
"Mr. Wayne," he growled in heavily accented English. "You and the Black Canary   
have interfered with our plans. We do not take kindly to interference."   
  
For emphasis, he jerked Bruce's head back, exposing his neck. With almost   
sensual pleasure, he ran the knifepoint from Bruce's chin to his Adam's apple,   
applying just enough pressure to cut the outer skin. A thin line of blood   
followed the knife's trail.  
  
"Yeah?" Bruce gasped, reaching back with his right hand.   
  
"Well I don't take *kindly*--" He grabbed hold of Scarface's collar.   
  
"--to having a *knife*--" Bruce yanked with near superhuman strength.   
  
"--held to my *throat*!"   
  
He *threw* Scarface through the front windshield.   
  
The large man crashed through the safety glass. He wildly extended his hands in   
all directions and somehow latched onto one of the windshield wipers. He looked   
at Bruce with triumphant, hate-filled eyes. Reaching into his jacket pocket he   
took out a gun and aimed it directly at Bruce's face.  
  
"Prepare to *die*, Mr. Wayne!" he yelled.  
  
Eyes narrowed, Bruce slammed on the brakes. The sudden stop threw him and the   
unconscious front seat passengers violently forward. Bruce hit his forehead on   
the steering wheel with enough force to see stars momentarily.   
  
Of course, it also had the intended effect of sending Scarface flying back   
inside the car, clear across to the rear. He hit the back window headfirst with   
a resounding ~CRACK!~ The force of the collision knocked him out.  
  
"And I definitely *don't* like being shot at!" Bruce added, gasping. He pulled a   
handkerchief from one of the men lying passed out in the front and dabbed his   
neck, stemming the flow of blood.  
  
Before exiting the vehicle, he quickly searched the three unconscious men for   
any form of identification. Inside the driver's wallet was a business card with   
an unusual insignia. Hearing the distinct sounds of police sirens, Bruce   
abandoned the vehicle and its occupants and ducked into an alleyway.  
  
****  
  
The car was several blocks ahead when Black Canary saw it come to a sudden stop.   
Revving up the motorcycle to over 7000 rpms, she let it go, flirting with the   
speedometer's red zone. She did a mental calculation--125 mph!   
  
"He'd better be all right," she growled. "'Cause I want the pleasure of killing   
him myself. Of all the idiotic, macho stunts--pushing *me* to safety!"   
  
She saw the light change up ahead. The intersection was instantly swamped with   
festivalgoers. Quickly looking around, she spotted an open bed truck that was   
about to be unloaded. It had a ramp from its rear to the street.   
  
"I don't believe I'm gonna *do* this--!" she shouted.  
  
"What? What are you doing?" Oracle asked.  
  
"Believe me, girlfriend," Dinah muttered. "You don't *want* to know!" And   
promptly cut her transmission.  
  
****  
  
Back at the clocktower, Dick and Barbara exchanged rueful glances.  
  
"Birds of a feather," she muttered. Dick nodded in agreement.   
  
"They'd better get together soon," he said. "I don't think I can take this much   
longer."  
  
They both turned to look at their darkened monitors.  
  
****  
  
Dinah aimed towards the flatbed truck, easily taking the ramp. The motorcycle's   
momentum sent it airborne once it reached the top. She cleared the truck's roof,   
landing on its hood. Gunning the engine she cleared the distance between the   
flatbed and a van-type delivery truck parked immediately in front. She safely   
brought the motorcycle down on the van's cargo trailer.  
  
Revving the motorcycle's turbo-charged engines, Dinah expertly maneuvered it to   
nearest building's roof. About to reach the end of the line, she pushed the   
throttle even higher, and this time, when she flew off the roof, she threw her   
body forward while pulling *up* with all her strength. This controlled the   
street bike's flight as she aimed it at the myriad telephone and electrical   
wires that criss-crossed the busy intersection.  
  
"You need to have your head examined, Dinah Lance!" she shouted.  
  
Keeping an eagle eye out for the electric lines she wanted to avoid, Dinah   
brought the bike down on the thick, communications fiber-optics cable. Trying   
not to think about the stunt that she was pulling, Dinah rode the motorcycle   
over the pedestrian-clogged intersection. Amidst shouts of surprise and finger   
pointing, she successfully arrived at the other side.  
  
Getting back down to street level was almost denouement. She found a staircase-  
style fire escape and simply rode the motorcycle down the banister, flying off   
the bottom rung to the street and continuing on her way.  
  
"There. See? That wasn't so bad."  
  
****  
  
Dinah pulled up in time to see Bruce take a running leap to grab the pull-down   
ladder of a fire escape.   
  
"Care for a ride?" she asked. Bruce looked down and gave her a quick smile. He   
dropped immediately and climbed on behind her. Dinah maneuvered the motorcycle   
through the narrow alley and pulled into the adjacent boulevard just as the   
local police arrived at the scene of the accident.  
  
"What am I going to do with you?" she yelled over the roar of the engine. She   
felt Bruce's arms tighten slightly around her waist.  
  
"I don't know," he answered. "But I can think of something."  
  
Without skipping a beat, Dinah grabbed his right thumb and applied pressure.   
Bruce gasped in real pain.  
  
"I-*get*-the-message!" he muttered between clenched teeth. Dinah instantly   
released him. Grimacing, he placed *both* hands behind him on the bike's rear   
rest.  
  
"You must be a ton of laughs on a date," he said ironically. His hand was   
throbbing.  
  
"And *you* must be just a bit full of yourself," Dinah snapped back.  
  
Neither spoke for a few minutes.   
  
"I'm sorry," Bruce said finally.  
  
"You should be a little more astute about where you put your hands, Mr. Wayne.   
Most women don't like to be pawed. And some of us can do something about it."  
  
"I wasn't apologizing about that--" Bruce began.   
  
Dinah brought the bike to a screeching halt and dismounting, turned and faced   
him, her expression thunderous. In the back of his head, Bruce noted how her   
eyes were doing their blue to green transformation. He, too, dismounted.  
  
"I don't know who you think you are, Mr. Wayne!" she said sharply, jabbing his   
chest for added emphasis. "But so far you haven't impressed me very much. You're   
the most vain, most insipid man I've *ever* had the displeasure of--"  
  
"I was apologizing for last night," Bruce said, grabbing her wrist and holding   
it immobilized. "I shouldn't have interfered." His dark eyes held hers. "And--I   
shouldn't have made a pass at you. It was a poor joke."  
  
Dinah stared at him, her high cheeks flushed in anger. She suddenly became aware   
of the intensity of his dark blue gaze. Realizing that he was still holding her   
wrist, she gently placed her other hand on his.  
  
Bruce looked down at their hands, and suddenly self-conscious, released her.   
They both deliberately dropped their arms to their sides. Wordlessly, they   
climbed back on the motorcycle and continued on the return trip to their hotel.  
  
After a few minutes, Dinah spoke at last.  
  
"Mr. Wayne," she called over the noisy engine. "You're right. You shouldn't have   
made a pass at me *or* interfered last night." Weighing her words, she added,   
"Just now, when you made a pass, you were being a jerk."   
  
Bruce didn't say anything. Why did he bother to come to Cannes, he wondered?   
Whatever he felt for Dinah was better left alone. It was time to return to   
Gotham City. Fighting Arkham escapees was a piece of cake compared to trying to   
'start' something with the independent Black Canary.  
  
"But, last night, you were only trying to help," Dinah continued. "I shouldn't   
have snapped at you. It wasn't *your* fault that Gonen got away. And the   
hostages were all saved. But what I still don't understand is how you--"  
  
"Hey, up ahead!" Bruce interrupted, pointing. "What's going on?"  
  
Large crowds of Cannes festivalgoers were lining the drive-up entrance to their   
hotel. Dinah pulled over and they both watched curiously. Several limousines   
were driving up to the red-carpeted entranceway, spewing out one gorgeous woman   
after another.  
  
"Who are they?" Bruce asked. Dinah sighed.  
  
"Nothing less than the entire complement of Lana's Intimates models," she said.   
"They're having their annual fashion show tonight--new line of ladies' lingerie.   
The entire male population is in danger of having their collective tongues   
stepped on."  
  
"Shocking behavior," Bruce murmured. "You'd never catch *me* staring at women   
parading around in their underwear."  
  
Dinah burst into laughter.  
  
"What?" he asked, giving her his most ingenuous look. "Of course, Dick will   
probably kill me when he finds out about this."  
  
"Dick?"  
  
"My ward," Bruce said. "I told you about him..."  
  
"Ah, yes, the little boy you adopted," Dinah said, remembering. "Isn't he a   
little young to be ogling lingerie models?"  
  
"You were obviously never a little boy," Bruce answered lightly. Taking her arm,   
he escorted her to a small, open-air cafe near their hotel for drinks while they   
waited for the crowds to clear.   
  
"Dick's a young man now. Turned twenty-two on his last birthday."  
  
"Really?" Dinah sounded interested. "From your description last night, I guess   
that I was imagining a child running around Wayne Manor."  
  
Bruce smiled briefly at her comment. She noticed that the smile didn't quite   
reach his eyes. He looked down at his drink, turning pensive.  
  
"Dick accuses me of still seeing him as a child. Not treating him as an adult.   
Sometimes, it does cause a bit of a strain on our relationship." He took a sip   
of his sparkling water. "Maybe he's right. I can't seem to forget the frightened   
little boy who first walked into my life all those years ago. I can still see   
him clutching that silly stuffed elephant."  
  
Dinah smiled at the image.  
  
"But I'm afraid those days are long gone," he said, looking up at her. "In fact,   
he just graduated from the police academy."  
  
"A police officer?" Dinah asked, surprised. "But why--?"  
  
"The life of the indolent rich is not for him," Bruce said. "I don't know   
*where* I went wrong."  
  
Dinah smiled. "You're proud of him," she said matter-of-factly. Bruce didn't   
answer. "Do you have any pictures?"  
  
The sudden light that came to his otherwise dark, brooding eyes, surprised her.   
He reached inside his jacket.   
  
"Any particular age?" he asked, half-jokingly. Laughing, Dinah leaned over the   
table, and Bruce began to show her the mini-portrait gallery he carried with   
him. Dinah saw a dark-haired, blue-eyed boy grow from mischievous nine-year-old,   
to serious, police academy graduate.  
  
Two photos struck her instantly. Taking the billfold from Bruce, she pulled it   
in for closer study. The first showed a younger Bruce Wayne and a small boy in   
identical jackets, ties, and trousers sitting together. The boy was looking up   
at him with trusting eyes, while Bruce was lightly brushing back the boy's hair.   
Something about Bruce's own expression in the photo pulled at Dinah.   
  
He looked so sad.  
  
The second was a Christmas morning snapshot of the two of them. Dick was sitting   
cross-legged holding up a large, unopened package. Dinah noted with a smile that   
he was wearing Superman pajamas. Bruce was reclining on the floor, head resting   
on his bent arm, looking up at him.  
  
Once again, Dinah was struck by the poignant expression on Bruce's face as he   
gazed at the boy.  
  
"That was our first Christmas together," Bruce said, reaching for the billfold.   
"And his first Christmas without his parents. It was hard on all of us, but we   
somehow got through it."   
  
"And now he's a police officer," she said. "You should feel proud."   
  
"I am," Bruce said, closing the billfold and putting it away. "Dick's a great   
kid."  
  
"No," Dinah said, shaking her head. "I meant, you should be proud of yourself."   
Bruce raised a single eyebrow, his surprise evident. "For doing such a fine job   
raising him." Smiling, she added, "Mr. Wayne, you really *are* more than just   
another pretty face."  
  
Bruce actually blushed.   
  
Taking her glass she held it out, her eyes locked on his. Slowly, Bruce took his   
water glass and lightly clinked it against hers.  
  
"To new friends," she said.  
  
"And old acquaintances," he added enigmatically.  
  
****  
  
"So, does this mean that Batman's officially out of the picture?" Oracle asked.  
  
"I don't see why," Dinah replied.   
  
"Dinah, get real!" Oracle retorted. "You can't have them both! It-It's just not   
done."  
  
"Why not?" Dinah asked lightly. "It *is* possible for a girl to fall in love   
with more than one guy at a time, you know. I mean, aren't there *four* Baldwin   
brothers?" she quipped, referring to the family of actors.  
  
Oracle laughed over the comlink.  
  
"You're impossible," she said. Becoming serious, she added, "Dinah, I just don't   
want you to end up hurt."  
  
"Don't be silly, girlfriend," Dinah said dismissively. "I *know* that Bruce   
Wayne is not in search of a serious relationship. Tonight is simply dinner,   
drinks, and dancing. Nothing more. By next week, he won't even remember me."  
  
There was a knock at her door.  
  
"Oops. Gotta go. My hero awaits me."  
  
She opened the door eagerly. "You're early--" she began. Those were the only   
words she got out.  
  
****  
  
"Do you know what you're doing?" Dick sounded worried.  
  
"Nope," Bruce admitted, expertly tying his tie.  
  
"...!" The silence over the comlink spoke volumes. "Bruce, far be it from *me*   
to give you pointers with women, but--"  
  
"MYOB, youngster," Bruce replied, an undertone of steel belying his light words.   
Dick sighed.  
  
"I just don't want to see you get hurt," Dick said, finally.  
  
Bruce paused in his meticulous preparations. He'd been placing certain "useful"   
objects in the lining of his dinner jacket. The CEO of Wayne Enterprises *had*   
to be prepared to fend off potential kidnappers, he told himself.  
  
"Dick, I'll be honest with you. I don't know where this is going. I'm not even   
sure why I came--as Bruce Wayne and not Batman. But I do know this. Black   
Canary's real identity is no longer a secret. While Dinah's private life at the   
moment isn't fodder for the tabloids, Bruce Wayne's *is*." He paused as he   
searched in his shaving kit for one last item, and then continued.   
  
"Dinah can't become involved with both Bruce Wayne and Batman--there would be   
too much publicity involved. Publicity I'd just as soon avoid."  
  
"Then why are you--?"  
  
"--Because if there's any chance of this succeeding--whatever *this* is between   
us--then it has to be between Bruce Wayne and Dinah Lance, not Batman and Black   
Canary."  
  
"Bruce, are you talking 'future' here?" Dick demanded, not really believing what   
he was hearing. "Future, as in--marriage?"  
  
Bruce stared at his reflection for a long moment, not answering. Is *that* what   
this was all about? Was he, in fact, in *love* with Dinah, but was too obtuse to   
see it or even to admit it to himself? When he finally answered, it was as close   
to the truth, as he knew it.  
  
"Son, I just don't know." He adjusted his cufflinks and gave his jacket one   
final tug. "Dick, remember I need you and Barbara to get that information I   
asked for. The Jahaz just don't seem quite the religious fanatics they're trying   
to pass themselves off as."  
  
"We're on it already," Dick replied with professional coolness. Hesitating, he   
added, "Bruce, be careful, okay?"  
  
Bruce's eyes smiled at him from the other side of the mirror. How often had he   
heard those words since Dick had come into his life? He checked his watch.   
  
"I have to go," he said. About to open the door, he paused. "And Dick? Don't   
worry. It's just date. What can possibly go wrong?"  
  
****  
  
Dinah was mentally kicking herself. She tested the ropes again. Her wrists were   
securely tied to her ankles. Dinah felt a sharp pain on her wrists and something   
wet. The ropes were cutting into her wrists. The wetness was probably blood.   
  
Argh! Her new dress! It was probably ruined. Her fury went up a couple degrees.   
It had cost her a small fortune. Someone was going to pay, she swore. Even if   
she had to take it out of their hides!  
  
How could she have allowed herself to be caught by surprise?  
  
Bruce!? Ohmygod! She had to warn him. But how? She was bound and gagged and   
stuffed in her own closet between her luggage and clothing. They hadn't left her   
much to work with, except--  
  
She thought of her suitcases. Maybe there was something there she could use.   
  
Dinah instantly started maneuvering awkwardly to try to get closer to her neatly   
stowed suitcases.  
  
****  
  
Bruce felt nervous. His eyes remained on the flashing numbers above the elevator   
doors as they climbed. Almost there.  
  
"Get a grip," he told himself. "It's just a date."   
  
Dick's teasing voice sounded almost immediately.  
  
"And Dinah Lance is just another girl."   
  
"Yeah, right," Bruce growled. "Like the Joker is just another crook." He   
adjusted the package he was carrying under his arm. "And let's not forget that   
she hates Batman's guts."   
  
He got off at her floor.  
  
"Awww, come on, Bruce," Dick protested. "Dinah does *not* hate Batman's guts.   
She resents him. There's a difference."  
  
"Thanks," Bruce said. "I feel so much better now. Do me a favor, Dick. Don't   
help."  
  
Dick chuckled softly. "Ease up, Bruce. Dinah doesn't hate you. Of course, that   
doesn't mean that she won't hate you *after* she finds out who you are. And how   
you've misled her."  
  
"I have *not* misled her," Bruce denied. "I've left her a trail of breadcrumbs   
that a child could follow."  
  
"Really? And what if she resents being led by the nose?" Dick asked. "Bruce,   
Dinah's a proud lady. Roy told me once how much she'd loved Oliver Queen and how   
deeply he hurt her. Why don't you just *tell* her?"  
  
Bruce hesitated at her door.   
  
"Tell her what? How I feel? Or who I am?"  
  
"Why not both?" Dick asked softly. "Bruce, a man I respect more than anyone else   
in the world told me once that to be trusted is of even greater importance than   
to be loved." Dick paused. "Trust her, Bruce. Trust yourself."  
  
Bruce looked down at the box of red roses he was carrying. They were his   
mother's favorites.  
  
Somehow red roses seemed appropriate for Dinah.   
  
"You're right," Bruce said. He heard a sigh of relief over the comlink. "I'll   
tell her tonight. And Dick? Thanks, son."   
  
"Hey, what are partners for?" Dick said expansively. "Call me if you need any   
more pointers."   
  
"Thanks, junior, but I think I can handle it from here," Bruce replied. "Signing   
off." Dark eyes smiling, Bruce cut the connection. Taking a deep breath, he   
knocked at her door.  
  
It was indicative of his distraught state of mind that the first sign of danger   
Bruce was aware of was the soft ~pffpht!~ of a silencer.  
  
****  
  
The buzzing in his ear wouldn't stop. And the pounding wouldn't go away. He   
groaned.   
  
"*Bruce*!"  
  
He tried opening his eyes and found that he couldn't. In fact, he couldn't move   
his hands or his feet, for that matter. Tied and blindfolded, he deduced. And   
lying on the floor.  
  
The pounding nearby continued. Dinah?  
  
"Bruce," Dick said calmly, "our instruments show that you're conscious. Can you   
talk?"  
  
"Mmmmpf!" Bruce grunted. Gagged, too, he added. He felt a little nauseous and   
woozy. Drugged probably.  
  
"Okay, better than nothing." Dick chuckled. "How about one grunt for 'Yes,' and   
two grunts for 'No'?" Bruce heard Barbara's good-natured laughter in the   
background. He grunted in frustration.   
  
"Temper, temper," Dick teased. "Dinah's in trouble," he added seriously. Bruce   
listened instantly. "That's her pounding on the closet door. Can you help her?"  
  
Mentally closing his eyes at what he felt was a humiliating form of   
communications--I'll get you for this, Richard John Grayson, he promised   
silently--Bruce grunted once for 'yes.'  
  
"That's my dad," Dick said. Bruce could hear Barbara's poorly suppressed   
giggles.   
  
You're *both* toast, Bruce promised darkly.   
  
The pounding started again. Behind him and to his right, he gauged. He started   
crawling in that direction. Reaching the closet door, he felt with his fingers,   
his movements awkward. He remembered that this wasn't a sliding door, but rather   
a conventional hinged one--the kind that opened out.  
  
He pounded the door with his head. That stopped the pounding from the inside   
momentarily.  
  
"Mmmmpf!" he managed, struggling uselessly with his bindings.  
  
"Bruce, Babs had to tell Dinah it's you," Dick said.   
  
Bruce lay still for a moment evaluating the situation. Dinah was no fool. She'd   
want to know how Oracle knew that Bruce Wayne was out here. He took a few deep   
breaths through his nostrils. The gag across his mouth was cutting much of his   
air supply.   
  
"Do you want us to tell her who you really are?" Dick asked.   
  
Did he? Bruce grunted twice--'No'! He'd tell her himself. Once they got out of   
this. Unless she figured it out for herself.  
  
"I copy, Bruce," Dick said quietly.  
  
Okay, he had to try the knob, Bruce thought. But it would be too high for him to   
reach from here. His wrists and ankles were tied together, so he couldn't get   
much higher than his knees.  
  
Recalling the layout of his own suite, Bruce remembered that a chair should be   
somewhere in the sitting area. Crawling back in the direction that he'd come, he   
paused when he bumped into something hard. Feeling with his cheek, he made out   
the straight leg of a chair.  
  
Maneuvering his body awkwardly around, he was able to just get his fingertips   
around one of the legs. Now, for the return trip to the closet door. Jutting his   
chin determinedly, Bruce started back.  
  
****  
  
What was he doing, Dinah thought? There'd been silence for what seemed an   
eternity. And how did Oracle know that Bruce was outside her closet door? Who   
*are* you, Bruce Wayne, she wondered? She banged at the door in frustration.  
  
She'd managed to open her suitcase and had found nothing of use. Just dirty   
laundry. Inexplicably, thoughts of the pleasant afternoon she'd spent with Bruce   
came back to her. And the photos he'd proudly shown her of his son.   
  
Shaking her head, her mind came back to the problem at hand. Her Canary Kit was   
under the bed where it was doing her absolutely no good. And since she couldn't   
talk, there was no way that she could pass that information to anyone else.  
  
Dinah lay back again, feeling helpless and angry for letting herself be caught   
off guard. If only she hadn't been so excited about her date with Bruce. His   
dark gaze flashed in her mind. She felt momentary butterflies in her stomach.  
  
She hadn't felt that attracted to a man since she and Batman had fought against   
KOBRA. She remembered their parting kiss, full of desperate longing. And later,   
on top of Wayne Enterprises Tower, Batman's final, shattering goodbye, saying he   
couldn't allow himself to "need" her.  
  
Dinah shook her head.   
  
Now was *not* the time!  
  
Nevertheless, her mind treacherously jumped to the stolen kiss that she had   
basically forced on Bruce under the table. Originally meant as a ploy to throw   
off the terrorists, to her shock it had turned into something more. Something   
much more.   
  
Get a grip, girl, she chastised. You've gotta find a way out of this hole! She   
started struggling anew with her bonds. Her wrists were raw by now and her hands   
were beginning to swell. She lay still for a moment, frustration building again.   
  
Closing her eyes, she attempted to center herself and slow her increased heart   
rate. Her thoughts immediately returned to Bruce. How proud he'd seemed when he   
showed her the photos he carried of Dick.   
  
This was followed by his look of almost profound sadness as he watched his boy   
during their first Christmas together. His look was reflected in the boy's own   
sad smile, as he sat cross-legged under the tree.   
  
She smiled as she remembered the Superman pajamas. How cute, she thought. She   
blinked. Waitaminute! Her blue eyes suddenly flashed green--*Superman* pajamas?  
  
Dinah's mind flew back a few weeks to her previous mission in Ireland. Her final   
conversation with Patrick Malone, an Irish terrorist, had been about Batman. It   
seems that while the usually taciturn Dark Knight was rapidly losing blood, and   
close to death, he'd begun to phase in and out of consciousness. And, in his   
weakened state, Batman had started to talk.  
  
About himself. And about his son.   
  
More specifically, about how his son used to slide down the banister, dressed in   
Superman pajamas. Even in his semi-conscious state, Batman's jealousy over the   
boy's open hero worship of the Man of Steel was obvious.   
  
I'll *kill* him, Dinah raged!  
  
She banged at the door again with added vehemence. As she did so, a sudden idea   
struck her.  
  
Dinah Lance, you're an idiot! Maybe I *can't* talk out loud, but that doesn't   
mean that I can't talk!  
  
Turning her back to the door, Dinah leaned on it until she could touch it with   
her fingers. Concentrating, she tentatively began tapping with her fingernail.   
As she tapped, she realized that her Morse Code skills were rusty. Still...if   
Bruce Wayne was who she *thought* he was, then maybe they were enough.  
  
****  
  
As Bruce struggled across the floor, he began to hear what sounded like   
syncopated tapping. He paused to listen. Tap...tap-tap-tap...tap-tap.  
  
What was that? He waited. It was coming from the closet door. Dinah? He listened   
intently. Morse Code, he realized. Concentrating, he tried to decode what she   
was sending:  
  
//dit-dah-dit-dit...'L'...dah-dah-dah...'O'...dah-dah-dah...'O'...dit-dah-  
dit...'R'//  
  
'Loor'? He shook his head, thinking. Did she mean 'Look'?   
  
//dah-dit-dah...'K'...//  
  
Okay, Bruce thought. Her Morse Code's a little shaky. She meant 'look.' But   
'look' at what? Look where?  
  
//dit-dit-dah...'U'...dit-dah...'A'...dah-dit-dit...'D'...dit...'E'...dit-dah-  
dit...'R'//  
  
U-A-D-E-R?   
  
What was *that*?   
  
The normally cool under any circumstances Bruce was beginning to feel the   
frustration build. The tapping started again.  
  
//dah-dit-dit-dit...'B'...dit...'E'...dah-dit-dit...'D'//  
  
B-E-D--Bed! Look *under* bed!   
  
Dinah had transposed the code for the letter 'A'--dit-dah--with that of the   
letter 'N'--dah-dit! Obviously, Batman would have to give Black Canary a   
refresher course on Morse Code at the next JLA meeting.   
  
He started crawling towards where he *believed* the bed stood. Finding it, he   
squeezed under the narrow opening. He sighed. Whatever he was looking for, it   
wasn't in an easy to find location.  
  
After several minutes of fruitless searching, he finally bumped into something   
soft, situated in a hard to reach cul-de-sac. It was a cloth carryall. Using his   
chin and nose, he managed to loosen it from where Dinah had jammed it.  
  
A few minutes later, he was working by feel again. At last, he somehow managed   
to unzip the small bag. Taking a deep breath, he began to carefully feel his way   
through the bag's contents.  
  
****  
  
When the door finally opened, Dinah was angry enough to shoot lightning bolts   
from her eyes. He had some *nerve* to stand there in front of her looking so   
breathtakingly handsome.   
  
"*Mmmmpf*!" she complained, jerking her body around.  
  
Bruce crouched down to her eye-level, the concern in his deep, blue eyes   
evident. Glaring at him, she felt her resolve begin to melt.  
  
"Here, let me get that thing off," he said, gently removing the tape around her   
mouth. She gulped a deep, grateful breath almost forgetting she wanted to kill   
him. He was already checking the tight knots that held her immobilized.  
  
Dinah heard a quick intake of breath. Looking at him as he worked, she couldn't   
help notice the burning anger in his eyes as he examined her wrists and ankles.  
  
"Take it easy, Dinah," he said softly, carrying her to the bed. "When the   
feeling comes back, it's going to hurt like hell."   
  
"I know," she said, lying back.   
  
Bruce began briskly rubbing her arms and legs. Examining the ugly welts and   
abrasions on her wrists and ankles, he began applying a soothing ointment to   
both areas.  
  
A tingling, burning sensation was already coursing through her arms and legs.   
The pain was almost unbearable, but she was Black Canary and she wasn't going to   
let it deter her. She gamely threw her legs over the side of the bed and sat up.  
  
"But I've got a job to do," she managed. She felt something being put in her   
hands. She looked down--her Canary uniform.  
  
"No, Dinah, *we* have a job to do," Bruce said. His voice sounded two octaves   
lower. He was sitting less than a handsbreadth away.  
  
She looked up at him. Thinking that she was about to protest, Bruce gently   
placed his finger on her lips.  
  
"I know what you're thinking. That I'm a rich playboy out looking for kicks and   
with nothing better to do than stick my nose where it doesn't belong."  
  
"Bruce, I--" she began. He kissed her, quieting whatever protest he thought she   
was about to make before she made it.  
  
"Dinah, I have a confession to make," he said, looking deeply into her eyes. "It   
isn't easy for me to say this. I've only told a handful of people. But someone   
whose opinion I value highly told me that it's time I trusted my feelings for   
you, and told you the truth."  
  
She watched him, waiting, hardly believing what he was about to tell her,   
wondering if he'd be able to go through with it. To her acute disappointment, he   
suddenly turned away from her.  
  
Bruce stood up, unable to face her. What if this was the end? What if she   
disliked Batman so intensely that she'd throw it back in his face? There was no   
helping it. He had to tell her. Straightening his shoulders, he turned around.  
  
"Dinah, there's no easy way to say this, so I'll just have to say it straight.   
I'm--"  
  
"--Batman," she finished. She smiled at his shocked look. "The fancy moves and   
doctored video tape partly gave it away. Oracle knowing somehow that you were in   
my suite when logically she shouldn't have been in any sort of contact with you   
added suspicion. But it was Dick's Superman pajamas that clinched it."  
  
"What--?" Bruce clearly didn't understand the last clue. "I admit that I wanted   
you to figure it out for yourself, so I made the moves fairly obvious, but what   
does *Dick* have to with this?"  
  
She smiled, a secret smile.  
  
"You really don't know, do you? Oracle didn't tell you?" She stood and stumbled   
slightly towards him, her legs still partially numb. He caught her immediately   
in his strong arms.  
  
He shook his head. "Tell me what?"   
  
She stood on tiptoe, her lips parting invitingly. "I'll tell you later," she   
whispered huskily. They kissed for a seeming eternity, breaking reluctantly. "We   
have work to do."  
  
Bruce nodded. "Then we'd better go," he said, still holding her to him. They   
kissed once more.  
  
Instantly, both their comlinks activated.  
  
"Yes?" Bruce asked slightly dazed.  
  
"Yes?" Dinah asked, smiling up at him.  
  
"Dinah--!" "Bruce--!" Oracle and Dick called simultaneously. "Are you free yet?   
The Jahaz just made their demands. They're holding the entire company of models   
of 'Lana's Intimates.' They say that if they don't receive their ransom demand   
and a helicopter to make good their escape, they're going to start killing them   
one at a time, starting in thirty minutes!"  
  
"Time to save the day," Bruce said, a half-smile pulling at the corner of his   
mouth.  
  
Donning her costume, Dinah said, "It *would* have to be a bunch of women in   
their underwear!"  
  
"The life of a superhero is a constant battle against the forces of evil," Bruce   
uttered straight-faced. "But *somebody* has to do it!"  
  
He ducked as she threw something conveniently handy at him.  
  
****  
  
Back at the clocktower, Dick waggled his eyebrows at Barbara suggestively.  
  
"That's my dad! Such stuff as heroes are made of," he bragged, laughing softly.   
"Off to rescue a gaggle of gorgeous lingerie models. Now I know why he didn't   
ask for my help on this gig!"  
  
"He didn't ask for your help," Barbara said sweetly, "because I would've   
*killed* you when you got back!"  
  
He ducked as she threw something conveniently handy at him.  
  
****  
  
All business, Black Canary and Bruce parted company. Glancing back in the   
direction that he went, Black Canary was not surprised to see that he was   
already gone. She smiled to herself. Most definitely not just another pretty   
face.  
  
"Oracle," she called.  
  
"Oracle, here," the disembodied voice promptly responded.  
  
"When this over, you and I are going to have a long talk, girlfriend," Black   
Canary hissed. "The least you could've done was give me some kind of warning."  
  
"You know that I couldn't, Dinah. As long as he was unwilling or unable to tell   
you himself, my hands were tied. I'm sorry."  
  
"No," Black Canary said. "Don't apologize. Keeping secrets is your job. And I   
can't fault you for protecting your own family."  
  
"Dinah?" a new, male voice came over her comlink.  
  
"Nightwing?" she asked.   
  
"Yeah, it's me." There was a short pause. "I want you to know that Bruce has   
*never* revealed his secret identity to a woman he was dating. Other than   
immediate family, I think you can count the number of people in the loop on one   
hand--and have fingers left over."  
  
"It's a big responsibility. I know," she said quietly.  
  
"Yeah, but that's not what I was driving at. Dinah, I think this is for real   
with him. I've never seen him act this way. I mean, this is the *third* time   
he's left Gotham City in order to 'help' you." He paused.  
  
"I just wanted you know that," he added lamely. Black Canary smiled slightly.  
  
"Thank you for telling me," she replied.  
  
****  
  
"What did you find out?" Bruce asked.   
  
He was currently hanging upside down and watching through one of the many arched   
windows that lined the southern side of the ostentatious auditorium. He counted   
ten terrorists inside. He'd already taken out the four on the roof, and Black   
Canary was going to take care of the six or so at the entrances.  
  
The thirty-some Lana's Intimates models were sitting, huddled together on the   
stage. Fortunately, as the Jahaz attack came *before* the guests' arrival, the   
lingerie models were the only hostages. Small favors.  
  
Bruce made a conscious decision not to become Batman on this case. This was   
Black Canary's mission, and it wasn't *her* fault if some idiot jetsetter she   
met kept interfering. However, there was little chance that Bruce Wayne would be   
identified.  
  
He grinned ferally.   
  
Actually, there was *no* chance. His face was blackened with bootblack, and he   
was wearing a black stocking mask currently pulled back. When necessary, it   
would easily cover his face. In fact, he was dressed from head to toe in black,   
wearing military-style fatigues. He'd 'borrowed' them from one of the lookouts   
on the roof. Funny how the guy had a sudden desire to take a nap.  
  
"You were right, Bruce," Dick said. "The Jahaz is little more than an   
extortionist organization. They espouse their actions to the 'greater good' of   
Chemosh, but it's little more than a cover. They have no political *or*   
religious agenda that we can find. Their claims of trying to keep Western   
influence out of the Middle Eastern region is pure tripe." Dick said this last   
disgustedly.   
  
"In the past eighteen months, each of their terrorist attacks has come with a   
ransom demand. When their demands haven't been met, the hostages have been   
killed. No questions asked. No second chances." Dick paused, as if assimilating   
the cold-bloodedness behind the attacks.  
  
"And when their demands *are* met?" Bruce asked. He took out a glasscutter and   
placed it on the windowpane.  
  
"Fifty-fifty chance that some of the hostages *will* be killed anyway. So far,   
the only attack they've instigated that went totally against them was the one   
you and Black Canary stopped yesterday."  
  
"One for the good guys," Bruce uttered. "Not much of a win record." Reaching in   
the window, Bruce carefully opened it and started to lower himself inside.   
  
"Time to put an end to their game plan," he added.  
  
****  
  
"See two boll weevils grew up in South Carolina," Dick was saying. They were   
waiting for Black Canary to make contact.   
  
Barbara rolled her eyes. This was definitely going to be the *last* time she   
asked Dick to help. His corny puns and knock-knock jokes were driving her, well,   
'Batty'!  
  
"One boll weevil went to Hollywood and became a famous actor. The other stayed   
behind in the cotton fields and never amounted to much." He paused and gave her   
an impish smile. "Ready for this?"  
  
"No!" Barbara protested. Dick ignored her good-naturedly.  
  
"The second one, naturally, was known as--" He paused dramatically. "--the   
lesser of two *weevils*."  
  
Barbara groaned. Dick burst into raucous laughter.   
  
"Don't worry," he gasped. "I've gotta million of 'em!"  
  
"That's what I'm afraid of," she complained. "There should be a law against   
puns. They're the lowest form of humor!"  
  
"Sure are," Dick readily agreed. "When you didn't think of them first."  
  
Barbara looked around for something to throw, and then burst out laughing when   
she saw him already hanging upside down from the ceiling rafters.  
  
"Don't hurt me," he said in a small voice, covering his head.   
  
"Oracle?" Black Canary's voice cut in. "I'm in position." Barbara sent her a   
mental 'Thank you.' Dick instantly dropped and resumed his position at his   
station.  
  
"Got it, BC," Barbara replied. "Bruce is already inside. He's waiting for the   
signal."  
  
"Can you cross-patch us?" Black Canary requested.  
  
"Can do easy. Stand by." Barbara typed a few keystrokes, hit 'Enter' a couple of   
times, and then spoke again.   
  
"Bruce? BC? Commo check."   
  
"Check," Bruce whispered.  
  
"Check," Black Canary confirmed. "Bruce, I'm almost in position. Ready?"  
  
"Just give the word," he said.  
  
Barbara and Dick listened tensely as the two heroes exchanged battle   
information. Hearing *Bruce* in action was just too weird, Dick thought. It must   
be love.  
  
"*Now*!"   
  
Dick and Barbara held their breaths as the final showdown began.  
  
****  
  
"*Now*!"  
  
Black Canary's voice rang in Bruce's comlink. Instantly, he pulled out his   
earpiece and slapped on a pair of earplugs. Simultaneously, the infamous Canary   
Cry sent out its high-pitched sonic wail. Its eardrum-piercing signal was   
magnified a hundredfold by the terrorists' earpieces, sending them all into   
paroxysms of pain.  
  
The weaker ones passed out from the ear-splitting sonic assault on their   
sensitive inner ear. The stronger ones managed to yank out the earpieces before   
being overcome by total blackness. A few managed to remain conscious by covering   
their ears until the sonic cry died out.  
  
Because they weren't wearing any earpiece communications devices, the hostages   
were spared pain. However, most of the models blacked out from the high-pitched   
sonic cry, which was designed to attack the inner ear and distort the victim's   
equilibrium. Those that somehow managed to remain conscious were too dazed to be   
of much use.  
  
As soon as Black Canary deployed her non-lethal, defensive weapon, Bruce sprang   
into action. While the terrorists were disoriented from the assault on their   
inner ear, he came up behind them and quickly dispatched them one at a time.   
Taking out any that remained standing, he began securing them for the   
authorities with plastic tie-wraps.  
  
Immersed on the job at hand, he was startled by the hard, metallic object that   
was suddenly held against his temple. He froze immediately.  
  
"~Hands up~!" the gunman ordered in accented French. Bruce straightened slowly,   
carefully holding his hands out by his side.  
  
"~On the floor! Face down! Spread your hands and legs!~"  
  
Still holding his hands out by his side, Bruce went down to his knees. Again, he   
felt the gun barrel being pressed at the back of his neck.   
  
He hated guns. He especially hated guns pointed at him.  
  
Going down as directed, he suddenly reached back and grabbing the long barrel,   
yanked the Uzi out of the terrorist's hands. Rolling on his back, he kicked up   
with his powerful legs, and then using the weapon as a club, subdued his   
opponent.  
  
Looking down at the now unconscious terrorist, he recognized Scarface.  
  
"Didn't I tell you that I didn't like guns pointed at me?" he asked. He looked   
around. Black Canary was helping the scantily clad models to their feet and   
leading them off the stage.   
  
He reached up and removed the earplugs, replacing them with his communications   
earpiece.  
  
"Dinah," he called. She looked up and waved from where she was crouching next to   
a still-woozy model. "I don't like this. Too easy."  
  
"Oh, don't be such a grouch," she said light-heartedly. "Sometimes a cigar is   
just a cigar."  
  
"What?" he asked, momentarily thrown.  
  
"In other words, don't look a gift horse in the mouth," she said.   
  
"Maybe," he said. Still suspicious, he began moving towards the stage. "Still,   
I'm not ready to celebrate yet. Are we sure we've accounted for all of them?"  
  
"Bruce, honestly!" Black Canary said exasperatedly. "If you're not the most--!"   
She stopped, gasping in surprise.  
  
Bruce whirled around. Everywhere he looked, they were facing the muzzles of   
automatic weapons aimed directly at them. They were surrounded. The line of   
weapons parted, and Gonen stepped through, his expression triumphant.  
  
"You're right, Dinah. And sometimes an Uzi is a fully *loaded* Uzi." Diving   
behind a row of seats, he cried out, "Everyone! Down!"  
  
****  
  
The staccato bursts of automatic gunfire echoed in the clocktower. Screams,   
angry shouts, and curses could be heard over the sharp reports.  
  
Dick felt the perspiration trickling down his temples. His heart rate was up and   
his hands felt clammy. At first, being on the sidelines had been kind of fun. It   
wasn't often that he got to see *Bruce* on the receiving end of a tongue-  
lashing.  
  
And Black Canary could dish it out with the best of them.  
  
But this?  
  
And Bruce wasn't even wearing his costume with its protective Kevlar/Nomex   
weave! What could've *possessed* him to be so careless? Dick needed to *do*   
something! But what?   
  
He pounded the table in front of him and jumped to his feet. Ignoring Barbara's   
worried looks, he started pacing. He'd promised Bruce that he would not under   
any circumstances involve the JLA.  
  
Dick walked over to a window that overlooked the city below. It was late evening   
here in Gotham, with last-minute shoppers rushing with their bags and packages.   
He glanced at the clock. It would be about 1:30 a.m. in Cannes.   
  
Bruce was six hours away. But he was in trouble right now. No way Dick would be   
able to swoop in on the Batwing and do a last minute save. He thought of   
Superman.  
  
"If there was ever a job for Superman, this is it," he whispered. He pressed his   
forehead against the windowpane, evaluating his options. He straightened slowly   
as an idea took shape.  
  
Barbara noticed the change in his body language and immediately knew he'd   
thought of something. "Dick? Dick, what are you thinking?" she asked.  
  
Dick waved at her for silence. His mind was running through his options at   
incredible speeds, seeing everything with the same sharp clarity that he did   
whenever he led the Titans. He was no longer in his 'assistant mode' waiting for   
Bruce to give the orders.   
  
Dick had just assumed command.  
  
Okay, the JLA was out. But that didn't mean that he couldn't call on some   
personal friends. Friends that he knew would follow him to Hell and back,   
because that's where he'd led them on several occasions.  
  
Hurrying to his communications station, he began to type. He adjusted the   
frequency and instantly made contact.  
  
"Raven! Omen!"   
  
Barbara looked over at him, green eyes wide with shock. "Dick! What are you   
doing?"  
  
"Not calling in the JLA!" he muttered. Dick immediately stiffened and closed his   
eyes, listening. He felt the barest of a soft, feather touch in his mind--like   
being kissed in his sleep.  
  
"~Richard~." Raven's soft voice caressed him. "~I am here~."  
  
"Thank you for answering my call," Dick said out loud, but before he could say   
anything else, a familiar voice interrupted him.  
  
"Richard?"   
  
Dick's eyes fluttered open. Omen's beautiful face peered out at him from his   
monitor. His eyes lit when he saw her.   
  
"Lilith, thank you for answering so fast. I need your help. And Raven's," he   
said. "And I need it fast."  
  
"Be at ease, Richard," Omen said, closing her eyes. "~Open your mind to me, my   
friend~."  
  
"~Open your mind to *us*~," Raven whispered.  
  
****  
  
"Bruce..." Dick whispered. "In trouble...need to help him..."  
  
"~There are too many gunmen~," Omen whispered.  
  
"~Innocents will be killed~," Raven added.  
  
"~We must pull them out~," Omen began. "~I will teleport them~--"  
  
"No..." Dick whispered, his voice deeply troubled. "Can't do that...have to help   
them...help themselves..."   
  
"~Tell us how you want us help, Richard~." Raven's voice had a touch of ironic   
humor.  
  
"Gas pellets..." Dick whispered.   
  
He felt himself going into a deep trance. He was floating in a dark pool, but he   
knew that he wasn't alone. He saw a light up ahead and swam towards it. The next   
instant, he was climbing a rocky precipice. He could hear the pounding of surf   
and the lonely sounds of seagulls in the distance.   
  
Next, he found himself standing on Titans Island. The glass Tower reflected the   
deep purples and reds of the late evening sunset. Suddenly, Omen and Raven were   
next to him. They were out by the breakers in the deepening gloom. Dick could   
feel the sting of saltwater as it was whipped up by the New York Harbor brisk   
winds.  
  
"I'll have to get Bruce to somehow toss his gas pellets," Dick was saying. "Once   
he does that, *you* take over." He paused, embarrassed. "And you'll have to do--  
whatever--without *Bruce* being aware that you helped. I know I'm asking a lot,   
but--"  
  
"But your father is a proud man," Raven said.  
  
"As are you," Omen added.  
  
Smiling, the three warmly held hands.  
  
"Do not worry, Richard," Raven said.   
  
"They will never know that we were there," Omen added.  
  
"Thank you," Dick said. "For being such good friends."  
  
****  
  
Dick blinked his eyes open. He looked up feeling slightly dazed. A pair of   
beautiful green eyes were looking worriedly at him.   
  
"Dick? Are you all right?" Barbara asked.  
  
Dick sat up straight and quickly nodded.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Come on, we've got work to do." He moved to raise   
Bruce on the comlink.  
  
****  
  
"Bruce!" Dick's insistent voice rang in his ear.   
  
Bruce ignored him temporarily. He was 'hanging ten' in midair, having just   
fought off six men, and was rushing towards Black Canary who was defending the   
models still remaining on the stage. Other than Lady Shiva, Bruce didn't think   
he'd ever seen a woman who'd reached the level of martial arts that Black Canary   
had achieved.  
  
"What?" he grunted, kicking straight up with his right leg, while striking out   
with the heel of his palm and following through with an elbow. Three men fell   
with each hit.  
  
"This isn't exactly a good time," he added.   
  
He dived and rolled on the runway aisle and finally reached Black Canary just as   
she was about to be overrun.  
  
"Bruce--! Gas pellets! You've gotta throw as many as you can get your hands on--  
Now!"  
  
"Gas pellets?" Bruce growled. "I only have a handful." He spun and kicked,   
taking out two more. "Besides...they have masks."  
  
Bruce and Black Canary now stood back to back, fighting for their lives and the   
lives of the hostages.  
  
****  
  
"Listen to me, Bruce," Dick said urgently, his mind racing. "We've got it on   
good authority that, uh, an Interpol undercover agent somehow, uh, sabotaged   
their masks."   
  
Dick looked over at Barbara. She was sitting with her arms crossed, a sour   
expression of disbelief on her beautiful features. She shook her head at him.   
Dick grimaced and gave her a "you've a got a better idea?" look.  
  
Barbara rolled her eyes, but turned to her monitor and began talking rapidly.  
  
"Bruce, this is Oracle," she started. "I just received word from one of my, uh,   
contacts that Interpol planted a mole in the Jahaz. His cover was recently   
blown, however, and he had to be extracted immediately and taken underground."   
She glanced at Dick who was looking at her with open admiration. She gave him a   
superior smile.   
  
"Before the operative left the organization, he says that he sabotaged some of   
their equipment--including the gas masks." She paused and gave Dick a 'Now   
what?" look.  
  
Dick took up the thread.  
  
"Bruce, I know that it isn't much to go on, but it's a chance." He paused and   
then continued desperately. "Bruce, it's all I can give you...I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't worry, chum," Bruce's voice echoed in clocktower. "I'm having too much   
fun to die just yet."  
  
****  
  
"BC!" Bruce called. "Gas pellets! Do you have any?"  
  
"Never leave home without 'em!" Black Canary quipped.  
  
"In that case--!" Bruce said, donning his rebreather. "Mask and gas!" He ordered   
and whipped out a handful of gas pellets. Black Canary followed suit.  
  
The terrorists instantly began diving for cover, donning their own protective   
masks.  
  
"~Gas! Gas! Gas!~" they called out, warning each other. "~Masks! Everybody--  
masks~!"  
  
Bruce and Black Canary used the mini diversion to begin escorting the lingerie   
models to safety. Hurrying to the emergency exits, Bruce suddenly stopped,   
confused. Black Canary almost bumped into him.  
  
"What is it?" she asked, instantly alert.  
  
"Something's wrong," he said. "Even if some of their masks aren't functioning,   
we should still have about six or seven after us. I'm going back to investigate.   
Take the hostages to safety."  
  
She nodded curtly. About to go in opposite directions, they hesitated   
momentarily. Bruce reached up and touched her cheek lightly, and then turned and   
ran back the way he'd just come.  
  
****  
  
Bruce emerged stealthily from backstage, and taking off at a running crouch, he   
dived quickly behind the first row of seats. Lying low, he peered through a   
forest of chair legs. There were several terrorists lying still in various   
positions. They appeared unconscious. Most were masked.  
  
Taking a chance, he low crawled to the nearest terrorist. Reaching him, Bruce   
took his pulse. Slow but steady. Spotting another less than two rows away, he   
made his way to that one as well. He too was unconscious, but alive.  
  
He *felt* something warm and gentle *touch* him suddenly. No, not a touch. At   
least, not a physical touch. Almost a soft caress in his mind. Like someone had   
just kissed him in his sleep.  
  
On sudden impulse, he removed the terrorist's gas mask and checked it for   
defects. It was in perfect condition. Single eyebrow raised, he checked a second   
mask. And a third. All in perfect working condition.  
  
Shaking his head, Bruce stood up. Crossing his arms, he looked up at the ceiling   
and addressed the empty auditorium.  
  
"I know you're here," he called. "Who is it? Raven? Omen? The both of you?" He   
waited. Slowly, the shadows in the dark recesses of the historic building began   
to coalesce. Soon, two disembodied figures hovered above him in the gloom.  
  
He nodded to them. Raven and Omen exchanged chagrinned glances and then lowered   
themselves to floor level.  
  
"~How did you know?~" Raven's soft voice sounded in his mind.  
  
"~Dick will be most displeased with us,~" Omen said, head lowered.  
  
"He won't be," Bruce said. "It's his own fault, after all." The two mystic women   
looked at him curiously. "He once compared being mind-touched by you to being   
kissed in his sleep. He found the whole experience quite pleasant. And, now I   
see why."  
  
To Bruce's mild amusement, it appeared as if Raven's soul self and Omen's astral   
projection were blushing.  
  
"Thank you for coming," he added. "I don't know if all the hostages would've   
been saved without your help."  
  
"~You're welcome,~" they said together and disappeared. Bruce felt rather than   
heard their soothing voices in his mind, ethereal as moonlight.   
  
Letting out a quick breath, he ran a hand quickly through his hair and opened   
his comlink.  
  
****  
  
"Oracle? Dick?" Bruce's voice came through clearly.   
  
Dick gesticulated at Barbara, miming, '*You* get it!' Grinning, she opened her   
end of the channel.  
  
"Oracle here," she responded.  
  
"Where's Dick?" Bruce asked a bit gruffly. Barbara glanced over at Dick who was   
waving his arms wildly, pointing towards the window and making 'swooshing'   
gestures, pointing at his watch.  
  
"He, um, had to leave," Barbara said, trying not to laugh. "Something about an   
appointment."  
  
"An appointment, huh?" Bruce said sourly. "Tell him...no, *I'll* tell him."  
  
Dick looked up at the darkened monitor, his eyes wide with panic. He knows, he   
thought!  
  
"Dick, I know you're there," Bruce said confirming the younger man's fears. Dick   
cringed. Here it comes, he thought.   
  
"When I get home--" Bruce was saying.  
  
"Aww, come on, Bruce!" Dick interrupted, his voice just a tad whiny.   
  
Barbara noted that his earlier assertive leader persona had completely   
evaporated. Bruce had that effect on him. He was pacing around the room, waving   
his arms in childish frustration. Barbara watched amused.  
  
"You've always taught me to use all of my resources," Dick said sharply. "So, I   
used my Ace-in-the-hole. Well, *excuuuuuuuuuse* me for saving your hide," he   
ranted. "Boy, talk about your gratitude problems...blah...blah...blah..."  
  
Barbara reached over and surreptitiously shut the transmission, enjoying Dick's   
tantrum for the moment.  
  
****  
  
Bruce shook his head, his dark eyes smiling.  
  
"We're gonna talk about this later, kid," Bruce said to himself. "And that's a   
promise."   
  
Bruce ran a quick check of the rest of the terrorists, searching for Gonen. He   
finally found the terrorist leader passed out near the back. Taking out a set of   
plastic tie-wraps, Bruce secured Gonen's wrists and ankles. As an added security   
measure, he then anchored him to a seat's metallic legs.   
  
"That ought to hold you," he said, satisfied that this time, the terrorist   
leader would not escape.  
  
Pressing his comlink, he raised Black Canary. "Dinah, it's safe to let the local   
police enter. Just give me a minute to make my exit."  
  
"You've got it," Black Canary replied. Bruce hurried back stage, grabbed a rope   
and started climbing. Soon, he was moving easily across the backstage ceiling   
rafters. Before long, he found a window and made his exit to the auditorium's   
roof.  
  
"So, do I still get dinner?" Black Canary asked in his ear. Reaching the roof's   
edge, he paused, smiling.  
  
"The night's young," he said. "Why settle for just dinner?"  
  
****  
  
Epilogue  
  
They danced, oblivious to the envious glances from the other guests. Her gold   
hair was upswept in a French chignon, held in place with an emerald comb. Her   
low-backed, blue-green dress, a Paris original, matched her striking eyes. His   
impeccable dinner jacket set off his perfect physique.  
  
When the music ended, he led her outside into the moonlit veranda overlooking   
the beach. They leaned on the railing, relishing each other's company.  
  
"I still can't believe what Oracle dug up about Gonen," Dinah said.  
  
"Third generation American of Eastern European Jewish descent," Bruce recited.   
"Great-grandfather came over following World War I and eventually settled in   
Minnesota. Grandfather was a decorated soldier in both World War II and the   
Korean War. Father fought in the Vietnam War, and then disillusioned with US   
policies took his wife and son and emigrated to Israel."  
  
"Where Bashir Gonen grew up," Dinah continued, "and joined the Israel Defense   
Forces, working special operations and intelligence. Unfortunately, somewhere   
along the line, he decided that money was more important than loyalty to his   
country and his oath." She shrugged. "A real piece of work."  
  
Bruce nodded, taking her in his arms. "Yes, and he's now in custody." He kissed   
her playfully on the nose. "But I'd much rather talk about you."  
  
She smiled, completely charmed by him. Bruce Wayne was so unlike his Batman   
persona, and yet the mantle of the Bat was never quite set aside. He was a man   
obsessed and possessed by his personal mission. But, for the moment, he was a   
handsome young man on a date.  
  
"Thank you for the dress," Dinah said, her blue-green eyes reflecting the   
moonlight. "Though how you managed it this late at night--"  
  
"I have my ways," Bruce said enigmatically. "Besides, it was the least I could   
do for interfering. Again." They smiled into each other's eyes for a moment.   
Feeling as if he were about to lose himself in her gaze, he cleared his throat.   
  
"Dick voted for a Lana's Intimates original," he added, "but I told him a   
gentleman *never* gives lingerie to a lady before the second date."  
  
Dinah laughed lightly.  
  
"Second date?" she asked. "Is that a promise?"  
  
"I never lie to a woman who can disable me in several different places," he   
quipped. Bruce took her hand, and they began strolling along the enchanting   
waterfront.  
  
The magic moment was suddenly shattered.   
  
"Bruce? Dinah?" Oracle's strident voice came over their comlinks. Dinah looked   
regretfully into Bruce's eyes. They held each other's gaze for a long eternity.  
  
"Bruce? Dinah? Come in, please!" Oracle urged. "JLA call up--!"  
  
Bruce held Dinah closer, and their eyes locked, bent down to her. She willingly   
arched up to meet him.   
  
"All active members--!"   
  
Their lips met.  
  
"--need to report ASAP!"   
  
Bruce and Dinah simultaneously reached up and removed their comlink earpieces.   
Oracle's urgent voice could still be heard. As one, they tossed their earpieces   
into the waters below them. Oracle's transmission was cut short.  
  
Later, as they stood together, bathed by the soft moonlit evening, she spoke   
almost dreamily.  
  
"Listen."  
  
"I don't hear anything," he said.  
  
"I know. Isn't it wonderful?"  
  
Bruce smiled, holding her a little closer. "What am I going to do with you?" he   
asked.  
  
"I don't know," Dinah said, snuggling closer. "But I can think of something."  
  
The End  
####  
  
  
  



End file.
